the light and the dark

Like a lot of people who have spent their lives loving his work, I’ve been pretty sad about Robin Williams’ death. He was just a bright light in the world, and now that he’s gone, things seem a little dimmer. He will be missed.

I’m glad that his tragic suicide is being used to shed some light on the very real problems of depression and suicide. It’s not enough to replace his light, but it’s something.

I have been concerned by some of the rhetoric I’ve seen though, even in well-meaning statements. Mental illness is an illness. It’s one that others often don’t know about, because of things like stigma that keep people from reaching out. But it’s an illness, same as any other chronic condition– with something like diabetes, your pancreas doesn’t work right. With mental illness, it’s your brain. You can’t cure any chronic disease just by “knowing how loved” you are. Or by “knowing God.” Or by “choosing joy.”

I know. While I haven’t struggled with suicidal thoughts, I do know what it means to have my thoughts taken over by the darkness. Ever since my near-death experience and subsequent diagnosis with a congenital heart defect, I’ve felt the presence of the darkness in my life. For me, the darkness is more anxiety than depression. For me, rather than seeming welcoming or like a relief, death feels like the enemy. An enemy that creeps into my thoughts and sends me into a panic attack in the middle of the night, terrified about the reality that one day I will die, perhaps sooner than I’d like. While I can’t say that I know what it feels like to be in such pain that death seems like an answer, I do know what it feels like to feel out of control of my own mind.

And for me, that feeling of being unable to control or push back the darkness is actually heightened by knowing how loved I am, by how much I love my family and friends, by how much I really do love life, by how much I love God, and by how much joy I experience day to day. The darkness is crafty. The darkness thrives on juxtaposition. The darkness can show up in my most beautiful moments, like when I’m smelling my babies’ hair as they drift to sleep in my arms, and remind me that if my heart failed again, there would be no more of these moments.

I really loved this essay about how a lie that depression tells is that everyone feels that way. You think it’s normal, so you don’t get help. I did the same. I thought, “Well, OF COURSE you feel this way– anyone would be a little freaked out about dying after coming so close to it! Plenty of people get kind of morbid once they are diagnosed with a chronic health issue!” But eventually I came to realize that no, not everyone finds their thoughts spiraling toward panicking about dying every time they realize they’re happy. Not everyone spends time every single day worrying about their death. Not everyone lies panicking in their bed, clutching their pounding chest, wondering if their heart is going to last them into old age, or long enough to see their children grow up.

I finally realized that what was happening to me, what still happens to me, isn’t normal. I started talking to people about it. I even talked to my doctor about it. If you’re struggling with darkness, know that it isn’t normal. Know that it can happen to you no matter how much you love or are loved, no matter how much you believe, no matter how much joy you have in your life. If you’re struggling, seek help. Talk to someone close to you. Or your doctor. Or someone on a suicide hotline.

And for those of you not struggling, you need to think about how you talk ABOUT these struggles, this darkness. Please don’t pass on platitudes about how if only people like Robin Williams knew how loved they were, or believed in your religion, or had more joy in their lives. You can be loved, love, have faith, and know joy and still be depressed or suffer from anxiety. If you wouldn’t say it about someone’s heart defect, don’t say it about their mental illness, either.

3 Replies to “the light and the dark”

Sarah, I can so relate to the darkness popping up when you are most happy. All my life I’ve had a hard time feeling JOYFUL because the thought pops into my mind–what if this ends? When I’m happiest is sometimes when I’m most afraid because that’s when I feel I have the most to lose. It’s terrible. Worrying, anxiety–they steal joy. And it’s also I feel like if I don’t give credence to the darkness–if I ignore it and focus on the good–I will be punished with tragedy and then the darkness will say, See, I told you to pay attention to me.

Sarah, thanks for the kind, honest and brave posting. I was especially touched by your point that chronic illness can’t be cured by love, faith, platitudes etc. I know from personal experience that “well meaning people” can do a world of hurt, especially when claiming that religion is the cure for something they do not understand. Telling someone who is ill that they need to have more faith, trust God more, pray more, etc simply results in negative emotions on top of illness symptoms. Believe me, I didn’t want to get sick and almost die when I was 16…….and I would have done anything to be “cured”, but my disease doesn’t have a cure. So I learned to live with it. Many people deal with physical and/or emotional/mental challenges daily, and this fight is not always apparent. The world would be a much better place if we could all try to be a little more tolerant and understanding of others, as we do not know the challenges they are dealing with.

Sarah, very timely comments. Perhaps upon realizing how loved Robin Williams was, they will finally get it through there biased views that mental illness doesn’t care what seems logical to them. I just finished commenting on an anti-mental illness website where there seems to be a real need to force the mentally ill to “get better already ! ” We aren’t lazy, immoral, possessed by demons, angry at God, slackers, dietarily deficient, soulless, trying to avoid responsibility, weak,imagining or improperly raised. When the brains says “x” and the “correct” response is “y” we get left out of the real world. It’s a shame so many people have to resort to believing we live this way by choice. I guess this is a form of coping mechanism when the reality that the the world isn’t equal for everybody has to be dealt with. I would have loved to be an astronaut or a CEO or run a successful small business, my wiring had other plans. Telling me I could have done so in spite of who I am is kind of hurtful. Some people just won’t ever understand.

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Welcome!

My name is Sarah Orsborn. I'm a writer living in Denver, CO, with my husband Jon, our six-year-old twin daughters Etta and Claire, who has Spina Bifida, our two dogs Olive and Bessie, and one not-so-Tinycat.

As a child, I nicknamed myself Ernie Bufflo, and from this quirk, my blog takes its name.